


The Enemy Of My Enemy.

by romvnxvas



Series: Reader is from space and as gay and confused as they come [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 13:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14136840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romvnxvas/pseuds/romvnxvas
Summary: You believe the phrase "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" is particularly stupid and hypocritical. Lexa agrees, one way or another.





	The Enemy Of My Enemy.

**Author's Note:**

> This is also posted by me on Wattpad and this is gonna flop so awesomely woop woop

 "Why do you look so gloomy, noodlehair?"

 Clarke rolls her eyes up at you, and you only smirk at the blonde, sipping on the cup full of some alcoholic grounder drink. Clarke sighs.

 "It's all too happy now. We're celebrating the end of a battle we won... but what about tomorrow?"

 You stop. You understand your friend's worry: you've thought about it yourself. The Ark is allied with the Grounders as of now, but the war is over. The enemy of my enemy had been a nice strategy, but the enemy is gone now. Sighing, you groan as you drop on the log next to Clarke, who stares at you worried. You slap her hands as they lift your shirt to look at your bandages.

 "Today," you push your cup into Clarke's hands, raising your eyebrows to emphasize the words, "we celebrate."

 The blonde pursue her lips, shaking her head. You grip her cheeks forcefully to look at her eyes, squinting your own at her.

 "We'll worry about the tomorrow, tomorrow. Now drink up, noodlehair. I don't know what grounder shit that is but that's  _the_ shit! Don't tell Monty I told you that though."

 Clarke chuckles, staring at you before she nods, throwing the liquid down her throat. You smirk at her contorting face and hums, getting up the log.

 Only to see red sash flowing inside the bigger tent.

 You stop, looking around. Everyone is laughing, drunk, eating or then dissappeared inside tents or at the forest by the pairs or more. No one seems worried about guarding the Commander's tent. Sighing and with the feeling that you'll probably regret this, you follow up the hill to inside the tent.

 You find the girl struggling with her armor, her shaky breath so loud she doesn't even hear you entering - which is really worrying, as you're currently stepping heavily because of your injury. She whimpers as the gauntles fall off her shoulders, black breastplate following shortly only to reveal a black blouse torn at shoulder length.

 You suck in a breath as you see the blood coating the material, and Lexa turns abruptly, flinching lightly but maintaining her stiff posture. You shake your head, releasing the breath as you take a step back. You ignore your own pain.

 "I'll call Clarke."

 "Don't."

 You stop, staring incredulous at the struggling girl. She locks her jaw, baring her teeth at you in a scowl.

 "No one is supposed to know about this."

 You raise your eyebrows. "What? That you're injured?!"

 Lexa nods, stiffly. You huff in indignation.

 "I am not supposed to show weakness."

 "Getting a fucking sword slashing into your shoulder isn't a fucking weakness it's dangerous!"

 Lexa sighs, tired, rolling her eyes slowly to a wooden pole.

 "It's a superficial injury."

 "I don't _care_ , it could infect. I am calling Clarke."

 "Why do you care?" You stop in your tracks, halfway outside, "tomorrow we go back to being enemies. It would be wise to let me be injured the way I am now."

 You sigh. "Because right now we're still allies."

 Silence. You shake your head, pursuing your lips as you step back inside the tent and let the flap fall close. You turn to see the other girl leaning heavily against the table filled with maps. Sighing, you step closer and pulls the only chair around in front of her.

 "Sit down," Lexa frowns at you, and you raise your eyebrows in a tense expression, lips scowling back in annoyance. _"Sit."_

 She sits. You ignore the burning at your left side as you limp through the tent, trying to remember everything Clarke and Abby or Jackson had taught you about giving stitches and mumbling to yourself as you do so. Lexa grumbles at you as you push everything at the table to the floor to throw what you took at it, but one glare of you has she shutting up. Which you resolve to ignore.

 "Hope you don't like this blouse too much."

 She doesn't flinch as you rip the material, from the injured shoulder to the hem, gently pushing it off and throwing it to the soil as you kneel beside the chair.

 You sigh.

 "Here we go."


End file.
